Apotheosis
by A. Kingsleigh
Summary: "Noun: the fact or action of becoming or making into a god." Because someone has to do it. A dark, more bittersweet alternate ending. Several character deaths.
1. Apotheosis

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

In another world, a better world, he might have relented. The wager would have been gracefully lost, the boy sent home. By the ancient rules, we give you life. But not today. Today, with a new eternity of torment in his future as his plans crumble before him, the remains of Xibalba's mercy crumble with them.

No one is paying him any attention. The spirits are all in the bullring celebrating after that insipid little song, while La Muerte and the Candle Maker smile down on them. They have all forgotten him yet again, but for once, he doesn't mind. He mutters a quick summoning spell as he clenches his hand around the thin air. A long shape begins to shimmer and materialize in his grasp. It's a dagger, older than he is by several eons and still as sharp as the day it was formed. The blade is obsidian, and the bronze handle is inlaid with jewels. The whole thing gives off a faint green glow as it pulses with magic. Dark, forbidden magic. There's nothing else that can kill a god.

Xibalba can no longer remember how it came to him, and not even his wife knows he has it. He often turns it around in his hands while listening to the spirits whisper. "If the legend is true," they tell one another, "we are all in great danger. He could drive it through her heart and steal her very essence. Just like that!"

He once laughed at such a wild notion. As much as he hates the land he rules, he would never be so desperate as to stoop so low. At least, that is what he'd always thought.

La Muerte is looking at him now, a faint air of pride in her sweet smile. "And what do _you_ say, Xibalba?"

He grips the handle of the dagger as he forces himself not to look into her eyes. "I'm sorry about this, my dear..."

She notices the way he's steeling himself for something and catches sight of the dark shape in his hand. Her smile fades, and her eyes widen in fearful realization. "Balby? What are you...?"

Her last words end in a strangled scream as he stabs her in the chest and twists the knife.

The spirits all gasp at the sight. Several of them rush forward to protect their queen, but it's too late. Her body is breaking apart, disintegrating into golden dust as she writhes in pain. A few more seconds, and her hat and empty dress fall to the ground.

Xibalba holds out his hand, and the remains of La Muerte float up into it. They melt into his skin, merging with his core. He gasps and grins at the surge of new power. Now the colors around him are fading to dull tones, and he's growing to twice his normal height. His teeth grow sharper. Lightning cracks from his fingertips. The frightened spirits are huddling together as they stare up at him. "Such a shame," he croons, casting a disdainful eye on his subjects. "But it had to be done, you see." Lifting his hand, he points a bony finger at Manolo. "And so does _this."_

The boy cries out and drops to his knees. He looks at his hands just in time to see the tips of his fingers start to fade away. "No..."

"Oh, look on the bright side, boy. She was going to forget about you, anyway - "

That's when a small something slams into the side of his head, followed by several dozen other small somethings. A chorus of angry voices is rising up from the crowd, and a wave of spirits is crashing over him. "Murderer! You are no king of ours! Leave him alone! You will pay for what you have done!"

"Get away from me!" he thunders, trying to shake them off. His concentration is broken, and so is his spell on Manolo. The boy slumps onto his side, breathing heavily as he rematerializes. The agony he was in a second ago can't be matched, or so he thinks.

He's vaguely aware of a large hand putting him back on his feet. "Come on, you gotta go, buddy." It's the Candle Maker, his voice gone quiet and shaky. "I can hold him off for a while."

"W-Where am I going?"

"Where you're needed." He holds out his hands, and Manolo shields his eyes as light shoots out from the god's palms. "By the ancient rules, I give you life."

* * *

San Angel already looks like a warzone, and it's only about to get worse. "So," Manolo says to the giant in front of him while trying not to look scared back to death, "my father tells me you hate bullfighters."

Chakal raises his swords and spits on the ground. "I hate everyone!"

"Let's do this." If they can somehow stop these bandits, maybe they can evacuate the town before Xibalba comes calling.

The bandit king and his subjects laugh, a cacophony of mocking booms and shrieks. "You and what army?"

That's when the ground splits open again, knocking everyone across the graveyard. Black smoke pours from the crevice and splits itself into dark, dead-eyed skeletons. From amidst the army of forgotten dead rises a mountainous lump of tar that congeals itself into a humanoid shape. The sky grows black and stormy as Xibalba opens his glowing red eyes and stares right at Manolo and Maria.

_"You!"_ He clenches his fingers, and a ball of green fire forms in his palm. He's about to throw it at the cowering mortals when a beam of golden light comes out of nowhere, hitting him in the chest and knocking him backwards.

When Manolo and Maria look up, they see the Candle Maker standing atop the church. Around them, Manolo's family and the other remembered spirits are forming a wall between the living and the dusty phantoms. The god of life prepares another attack as Xibalba gets up. "Y'all aren't getting out of this one."

"Oh, what? You think one of your mortals is brave enough to take my place? I know you aren't." He lifts the dagger and smirks. "But I can take yours. King Xibalba, god of the living and the dead. Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"I can think of one better." Chakal stretches out a metal arm, reaching for the dagger. Xibalba moves, but not quickly enough. The bandit king's claw grabs his wrist, and the dagger goes flying across the graveyard.

Manolo springs to his feet. "Someone get that knife!"

* * *

The sun sinks below the horizon, not that anyone really notices. Remembered clashes with forgotten, living clashes with dead, townsperson clashes with bandit. Mortals fall and stand up again as frames of bone. The dagger skids across the ground and soars through the air, tossed from person to person until it finally clatters down at Maria's feet. Scooping it up, she runs to her two friends. "I found it!" she blurts out, handing Manolo the weapon. "What now?"

"We get this to the Candle Maker - "

"Look out!" Joaquin shouts, looking up. The three of them duck between two buildings as Xibalba crashes to the ground right where they were standing a moment before.

Manolo grips the dagger handle as he watches the winged god struggle to stand up. It'll take but a second to reach him and another to plunge the blade through him. _Just end this. It's best for everyone. What are you waiting for?_

Then he feels Maria against him, trembling, and he can't move. Neither of them take another breath until Xibalba flies away, and they all stagger back into the open.

Joaquin looks over the wreckage, trying to figure out how much time the town has left. "Why didn't you attack him?" he asks Manolo, even though he already knows the answer.

Manolo doesn't look at him, or at Maria. "I..."

"That's it! I'm done playing!" They've stayed in one place too long. Chakal has spotted them, and he's coming.

Maria shoves the boys out of the way, and the claw clamps down around her waist. "Hey! Put me down!" she snaps as Chakal lifts her off her feet.

The giant ignores her. "Give me the dagger or your girl pays the price!" he thunders, making his way towards the church tower.

Manolo presses the dagger into Joaquin's hands. "Get this to the Candle Maker. Now."

"But Maria - "

"I'll handle this. Just go!" He looks to the top of the tower, where Chakal is already hanging with Maria still in his grasp. Sheathing his swords, he takes off in a brisk run. _I will **not** fail you again.  
_

* * *

One explosion later, they're all lying in the broken remains of the tower. The air is thick with smoke and stone dust. Manolo can barely lift his head. Chakal is trapped beneath several of the larger rocks, struggling to get free. The dagger is lying between them.

A shadow falls over the scene, and Xibalba swoops down into their midst. His eyes light up when he sees the dagger. "I believe you folk have something of mine."

"It's _mine!"_ Chakal shrieks, bashing him in the head. While he's disoriented, he knocks down a part of the tower still standing. The stones topple over and pin Xibalba between them, crushing his wings.

Chakal laughs as he lights the pack of dynamite on his chest and reaches for the dagger. "Forget that useless medal! I'm going to my new kingdom, and I'm taking you all with me!"

When Manolo sees where the dagger is, his stomach twists into a knot. It's not quite out of Chakal's grasp, and he'll be able to grab it if he can wriggle a few inches. For him, however, it's just a matter of reaching forward. He sees Maria when he looks to his left, coming to the same conclusion he has and staring at him in horror. "Manolo..."

Blinking back tears, he summons the last of his strength and all his courage as he grabs the dagger. "Forgive me."

She screams his name as he throws himself forward, kicking the support beam that's holding up the church bell. It falls, trapping him, Chakal and Xibalba under it. Working by the rapidly shrinking light of the fuse, he pins down the struggling god and holds the dagger over him with shaking hands.

Xibalba smirks, knowing that in a way, he's still won. "Enjoy being alone, boy."

"He won't be." A pair of slender fingers intertwine with Manolo's, steadying his hands and guiding the dagger until it's hovering just above Xibalba's chest.

Manolo catches his breath. He can't fathom how he managed not to notice Maria following him under the bell, or how she was that fast. But he recognizes the look in her eyes. She knows what she wants, and it's too late to refuse her.

Locking eyes, they drive the dagger through Xibalba's chestplate just as their whole world goes up in flames and takes them with it.

* * *

Here they've been, thinking they knew how painful it could be to die. Fools.

The explosion doesn't last more than a few seconds, but Manolo and Maria feel as though it takes hours. Bursts of orange, red and white flood their vision. The roar of the flames drowns out their screaming, but they can still feel it. They feel _everything:_ being torn apart, burnt away, reduced to nothing. Then there's nothing to feel. For a few seconds, anyway.

Something new comes along. Something cold and inhuman and very powerful. Something that lifts them out of the darkness, reforms their broken bodies, restores and heightens their senses one by one. Something that snaps their bones into unfamiliar shapes and sends power not meant for mortals coursing through their veins. When they find their voices again, it is only to groan in pain at the change.

Outside, the living and the dead watch anxiously as the church bell slowly tips over, letting out a stream of gray smoke. Chakal, or what would be left of him, is nowhere to be seen. Some rusty armor floating in a thin pool of bubbling tar is all that remains of Xibalba. For the two they truly care about, there is nothing.

There is, however, a hole blasted in the ground by the explosion. Something inside it is glowing, a pale gold light that flickers in sharp beams. It grows fainter as the minutes pass until it fades away altogether. The townspeople approach it when they hear the sound of someone shuffling about. Then they leap away as something reaches a gnarled, vaguely skeletal hand into the open.

The thing which climbs out of the pit looks like Manolo: it has his build, his hair, his face, his tattered suit. But his pupils are shaped like skulls and glow a pale yellow. Nearly every inch of his skin is covered in colorful, abstract markings that smolder as though they burned themselves into his flesh like some twisted piece of artwork. On his back, a ragged pair of inky black wings have burst from his shoulder blades. He stumbles as he walks forward, certain that he's not supposed to be alive.

The townsfolk all gasp. Several scream or faint, or both. The bandits take one look at the creature before them and flee for the hills. "Retreat! _Retreat!"_

Manolo watches them in confusion. He doesn't realize what's truly happened until he looks down at his hands and sees the outlines of bones and his claw-like fingertips. He touches his face and winces as he traces the markings. When he reaches behind him and feels his wings, he looks like he's going to be sick. This is wrong. He should be dead, or an ordinary mortal, or in his bed having some horrible nightmare. Anything but this. _I'm a monster. And so is she._

The thought of Maria sends him sinking to his knees. He should have looked behind him before rushing at Xibalba, or wrenched the dagger from her hands. She'd be dead, yes, but at least she could have been restored when all was said and done. Now she's trapped, it's all his fault and all he can do is whimper when he wants to scream.

There's a shuffling behind him, followed by the clicking of high-heeled boots and the swish of a skirt. More exclamations of horror from the townsfolk, and it's General Posada's turn to faint. Manolo can feel his beloved standing beside him and squeezes his eyes shut, too afraid to look at her. Instead he waits for the inevitable sound of her cursing his name. But there's nothing.

"...Manolo?" Her voice is warm and soft, full of concern for him, and it brings tears to his eyes. She can't possibly care about him after this. He doesn't deserve it. But now she's kneeling in front of him, taking his hands in hers. "Manolo, look at me."

He opens his eyes, and they widen. First he couldn't look, and now he can't look away.

There are faint streaks of gold in her hair, which has come undone from her ponytail and is flowing around her. Her pupils and the markings on her skin are the same as his. She has wings as well, but they aren't ugly and dark like his. They're elegant and look almost as though they've been forged from glimmering gold.

To him, though, her face is what's most remarkable. She's nervous and a little confused, but she's smiling at him nonetheless. She looks at their clasped hands with a mix of happiness and wonder. "We don't look too bad, all things considered."

He leans forward and embraces her, burying his face in her shoulder as he cries tears of relief. "We're going to be okay..."

"I know." She pulls away, then takes his face in both her hands and kisses him. It's firm and confident, and he deepens it by pulling her as close as he can. Most of the townspeople grimace or look away, and the general faints again a moment after coming to. Joaquin and the spirits grin at the sight, and Chuy snorts his approval.

The lovers pull apart at the sound of a hiss. Xibalba's snake is slithering out of the wreckage towards them, its heads bowed and its tongues flicking hesitantly. Manolo reaches out and takes it by its midsection. At his touch, it stiffens into a staff. Taking a breath, he stands up on shaking legs. The staff is helping one side of him balance, and Maria is steadying the other. They look out to the crowd in front of them, waiting for a reaction.

Carlos steps forward and kneels. The rest of Manolo's family follows suit, then the other spirits. Remembered, forgotten...it doesn't matter now. The living watch in amazement as the dead bow to their new rulers, but no one is more amazed than the ones being bowed to.

* * *

Time passes, and the tale only becomes murkier. No one in San Angel is completely sure what happened that night, and they don't know if they want to be. General Posada swears up and down that his daughter is dead and even makes a memorial to her in a corner of the graveyard. That is where Joaquin and Chuy find themselves on the next Day of the Dead.

Joaquin adds a picture of Manolo to the altar and brings him his guitar, along with some books and roses for Maria. Chuy curls up at the base of the altar and whines sadly. Joaquin scratches the pig behind his ears as he sits down. "Hey, you two. Thought you might like these. It's been...it's been going pretty well around here. Kind of boring." He sighs. "We miss you guys. A lot. You're probably real busy tonight, but...if you could just let us know that you're okay somehow..." He wipes away a tear. "That would be nice."

"Joaquin!"

He turns around and sees the other soldiers waving at him from the other end of the cemetery. "I gotta go," he says to the altar as he stands. "I'll try to come back later."

As he walks amongst the candlelit graves, he feels a warmer breeze than usual sweep through the air. He doesn't think much of it, but he stops dead when he hears someone strumming the strings of a very specific guitar. Holding his breath, he looks behind him. The guitar, the books and the roses have disappeared from the altar, and in their place is a bouquet of marigolds.

On a nearby grave sit two winged figures. One wears a silver crown and a deep purple suit, embellished with the same skulls and hearts he wore as a mortal. His wife wears a long dress of the same hue, embroidered with elaborate shapes in green, and her crown is a marigold wreath. She turns the rose around in her hand and smiles when her husband plays the first notes of their song. "If you could do it all again," she says, "what would you change?"

He doesn't have to think about his answer. "Not a thing."

"Good."

Spreading their wings, they take to the air and transform into streams of light that zip away into the starry sky.

* * *

It is said that King Manolo and Queen Maria ruled the Lands of the Dead well for many years. Remembered and forgotten spirits alike celebrated them, and their love for one another only grew stronger with time. Some say they still rule to this day. Others say they have passed on their duties to their children and grandchildren, and that they reside in the Land of the Living disguised as mortals. Only the dead know for certain. And on their day, if you look and listen closely, you might find the two lovers singing together or dancing on a rooftop all through the night.


	2. Afterwards

**I've been wanting to do a sequel/epilogue to this for a while. Originally it was going to be a full oneshot, but the idea of multiple vignettes seemed much better.**

**DISCLAIMER: If you recognize it, I don't own it.**

* * *

Returning to the Land of the Remembered at the end of that long day feels like a cruel joke at first. But when Manolo sees Maria's eyes light up at the sight of the city, hears her whisper "Isn't it amazing?" as she grabs his hand, he can't help but smile.

* * *

The doubts and fears are quick to plague his mind over the first few days. "I think I could find a way to change you back," he tells her one evening. "It's your choice."

She presses a finger to his lips before he can get another word out, shakes her head and gently smiles. "I already made my choice."

* * *

They grip each others hands and give each other reassuring looks as they hear the marriage vows and feel the crowns placed on their heads. His heart is still pounding against his ribs, but not with the fear from before. When all is done, she sweeps him into her arms and kisses him hard. His wings pop out from their resting position, then come forward and wrap around his bride in a second embrace.

That night brings the first of the many faint but distinct earthquakes that have since been felt by the residents of San Angel.

* * *

The air is thick with excited whispers as spirits crowd around the castle waiting for more news. The first child born to gods of death in centuries! And a son, no less! What luck!

Inside it is different. There is pride and laughter and happy tears from all of the family, mostly the boy's parents. He has Maria's eyes and Manolo's grin, and there's already a tiny curl growing on his head. He is most certainly a Sanchez, and he is everything they've dreamed of.

* * *

Another son follows the first, and then two daughters. Eventually the castle walls hum with the noise from dozens of princes and princesses. They all have the Sanchez curl to some degree, and many have black wings flecked with gold. Only their parents can tell them all apart, and no one knows how. They trail in Manolo and Maria's steps, play at the feet of their thrones. The king seems to have a glint in his eye shown only to them, people say.

* * *

They take the shape of their mortal selves when in private, and when meeting with friends. It puts the spirits more at ease to see beings resembling themselves, some say. Or perhaps they've never gotten used to looking at what they truly are. Perhaps they just want to remember. Or maybe because changing back in front of a pesky visitor makes for a good scare.

* * *

Neither of them use their wings very often: Manolo only began practicing in earnest when the children wanted to learn how to fly. Instead they keep horses, and they race through the city with their laughter drifting on the wind.

* * *

Their interactions with other gods are coldly formal at best. The old deities do not trust these once-human newcomers, even though Manolo has had the wretched dagger melted down and thrown away. They do not speak of him: if they did they would only speak ill, and speaking ill of the king invites the infamous wrath of the queen. Perhaps their rule shall end in the same fashion as that of those before them, and all shall be well once more.

* * *

Manolo spends more time in Land of the Forgotten than he probably should. It's the right thing to do, isn't it? They need someone who cares looking after him. He's not prepared for the full extent of the desolation, not really. Maria has to hold him as he cries that night. He still goes back.

* * *

They plant marigolds in the castle garden, around a statue of La Muerte. The name of her husband is never spoken.

* * *

Chuy passes on Maria's birthday, lying next to her shrine as he's done since the day she left. He cries when Manolo finally brings him home, and so does she.

* * *

When General Posada dies, he is told not of his daughter's whereabouts but that _la reina_ wishes to see him. She looks just like Maria, not a day older than when he saw her last. Yet her eyes are not Maria's. They seem ancient, hinting at sights and memories he cannot possibly comprehend. She speaks and walks with a solemn, otherworldly dignity. She is a wife, a mother, the leader of a people and mistress of a world he has no place in. When he leaves the castle, he walks straight out of the city and never returns.

A part of him has always hoped his little girl had survived, even if she wasn't willing to let him in. _Fool._

* * *

As Joaquin is lying on a distant battlefield, blood draining out from a hole too big to stitch closed, he sees the only faces that have remained in his memory through the years.

Manolo and Maria smile as they hold their hands out to him. "We've missed you, _amigo."_

* * *

He watches Maria as he drifts off to sleep, her body tucked between his wings. In the city below are the people who depend upon him and his guidance. Here in the castle is the family he has grown up with and the family he has made.

Is this the life he wanted when he went to the Proposal Tree that morning? No, of course not. Is it better? He'll never know. Would he give it up to see what might have been?

Never.


End file.
